


Dinner Theatre

by Rarepair



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-05
Updated: 2017-01-05
Packaged: 2018-09-14 21:53:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,939
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9204845
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rarepair/pseuds/Rarepair
Summary: Irene Invites Molly to Dinner. She's more than a little interested in the sweet pathologist but does Molly have any interest in her?





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [dietplainlite](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dietplainlite/gifts).



> My first shot at writing Femslash. Hope you like it.

   The room was fit to host royalty. A grand old oak table was covered with posh, hand-painted China and silver flatware that glinted like the surface of a lake on a sunny day. Ancient, intricate tapestries rife with scenes of feast and celebration adorned the walls. Tall, stately white candles climbed halfway to the ceiling. Finely dressed wait staff with impeccable manners glided in and out of the room carrying all manner of exotic bites and cocktails. Yet, Irene Adler could find little enjoyment in any of it. For the umpteenth time, her attention was diverted to a particular guest seated much too far from her for her liking. 

     Her frustration increased, fueled by the lack of effect her flirting seemed to have on Ms. Molly Hooper throughout that evening. It was not that the little pathologist was avoiding her, per se, or seemed uncomfortable about Irene's overtures, she just came off as indifferent. Indifference was Irene's Achilles' heel. She did not care if people loved or hated her, she just could not reconcile apathy; which was probably why she had found herself attracted to the likes of Sherlock Holmes at one point in her life. His general malaise about all things romantic had seemed the ultimate challenge. Well, it had been, until Irene had met Molly.

     The women's fateful encounter had happened at 221b Baker Street of all places. Irene had been visiting the detective's flat simply because she was feeling a bit nostalgic. However, whatever charm she thought the place possessed had been greatly diminished in seeing it again in the light of a different day. Once she had wandered around the cramped home for a bit, fiddled with the tuning on Sherlock's violin and rustled the linens atop his bed, she lost interest in the idea of inserting herself into his life again. After all, she had conquered that particular mountain. It was hardly a challenge to scale its peak a second time. Not to mention, absence between her and Sherlock had not made her heart grow fonder by any measure. With her curiosity settled, Irene had been just about to leave when she startled Molly at the front door. 

     Her curiosity had raged back upon setting eyes on the diminutive woman in an over-sized jumper and taupe slacks. 

     In their ensuing conversation, Irene learned that Molly had come to Baker Street to retrieve some medical samples Holmes had borrowed. At first their exchange was quite awkward, but all Irene had to do was let Molly chatter on and in short order, they bonded over the dubious distinction of having both been rejected by the 'great' man. What followed was the mutual admission that neither of them were as invested in him as they once had been. Irene had deduced quite quickly thereafter that Molly was restless. Restlessness always appealed to Irene. There was a lot of fun to be found in restlessness. So, she had suggested they get coffee.

     Little did she know, that first get together would be her undoing. For, the endearing, quirky, single pathologist became a fast addiction.    

     Irene took another sip of her Beaujolais and set the wine back down on the table. She wasn't sure if it had gone to vinegar or if the bitter taste in her mouth was the result of her solicitude. Molly's feathery laughter drifted to her from across the table as she leaned towards Shauna, one of Irene's wittier clients. Molly's eyes flitted up and flicked over Shauna's regal face, lingering on her full lips before gazing adoringly up into her khol-lined dark, brown eyes. 

      _The little shit_ , Irene thought. Molly  _was_  looking for a connection despite her protestations otherwise. Irene pressed her lips together and swallowed. She set her hands on her lap and gazed down at her plate for a few moments, suddenly a bit nauseous. When was the last time anyone had made her feel this insecure? She glowered at the gold stripe painted around the circumference of her flatware and almost gagged at the idea of having to ingest anything, let alone a five-course meal. The answer to her question was most likely 'never', as she could not remember having ever had a physical gut reaction like this in her life. She could not possibly . . . _care?_  . . . about Molly Hooper, could she? She gave her head a shake. Laughter bubbled up from her lips unexpectedly as she realized the cause of her affliction. When she glanced up again, her guests were all staring at her with concern. Except for Molly. Molly's face was blank.

     Irene cleared her throat. "Excuse me for a tick."

     She did her best to hold her head up and saunter from the room at an unhurried pace. She needed to escape the dinner party set she had produced with its cloyingly soft lighting and decadent adornments. Her face warmed as she rushed down the hall. She caught a waft of her own perfume and found the aroma off-putting. 

    _"Eau de desperation,"_  she mocked herself under her breath.

     She slammed open the door at the end of the hall with the heel of her palm and spun into the bathroom. For a minute or so, she leaned against the wall in the darkness and drew in steadying breaths to regroup herself. Then, she reached sideways and fumbled with the switch. In the same instant the lights flared to life, the door beside her cracked open and luminous honey-brown eyes peered into the room. Irene shot up and smoothed her hands down her black skirts.

     "Oh . . . ahem, sorry, I was just about finished . . ."

     Molly pushed open the door and squeezed inside. With raised brows, she leaned back against it as it closed. Irene couldn't help admire her again in her ridiculously bright, peach cocktail dress with its scattered white daisy print. Her brown hair was pulled back into a braided knot with matching peach bow barrettes holding back a few wayward locks. It was a dreadful ensemble, one Irene wouldn't be caught dead in herself, but she found the smaller woman adorable in it. For a few seconds, she was mute as Molly's eyes narrowed in contemplation. Irene felt as if she was being taken apart by her guileless scrutiny. Finally, Molly's nose wrinkled.

     "Are you okay?"

     Irene lifted her chin and laughed breathlessly. "Yes, yes, of course. I am just . . . I think I have had too much wine."

     Molly squinted again and pushed away from the door. Her lips poked out sideways.

     "You drank precisely three sips of wine. I dare say, no more than fifteen millilitres tops. So . . ."

     Irene's eyelashes fluttered. "Oh? How do you know?"

     Molly's head tilted sideways. "I counted."

     Irene felt a rush in her abdomen. Had she been wrong about Molly's interest? Had the little doctor been paying attention? Irene inexplicably needed to sit. She carefully crossed the marble floor of the bathroom and slunk into the plush armchair beneath the mirror. She did the best to elegantly arrange herself but there was little additional comfort to be found in her new position. Molly followed until she stood in front of Irene with her hands clasped together. Irene crossed her vibrating legs.

      "Hmm, you do appear flushed. Is there anything you need? Anything I can get you?" Molly asked softly as she stepped forward and laid the back of her fingers against Irene's forehead. 

      Irene snorted and brushed her hand away weakly. "That you do have correct."

      Molly frowned, her brows raised. "Hmm?"

      "Really, Molly, do not concern yourself with me. You should return to the dinner party and continue your conversation with Shauna."

      The small doctor nodded absentmindedly. "I like Shauna. She's nice."

      Irene gritted her teeth. "Well, then-"

      Molly clucked her tongue and sighed. "Though, she doesn't seem overly interested in me and you know, one does get tired of being on the wrong side of that kind of thing. I think I would prefer to be the subject of a crush for once."

      A drumming sound distracted Irene. After several seconds, she realized it was the peculiarly loud beating of her heart as blood pumped rapidly through her veins. Molly leaned over her with constricted lids as if trying to determine something. Her eyes darted back and forth like rabbits escaping through a meadow. Irene found herself drawn forward, her trapped breath burned her lungs. To her surprise, the dainty doctor nudged herself between her legs like a pet with no sense of boundaries. Irene felt the swish of Molly's skirts over her knees through the thin barrier of her nylons. Her insides knotted. This was something else. This was different. People always, always expected her to be the one to come to them, not the other way around. It was a bit terrifying to lose that control but at the same time, she was desperate to surrender. She loosed her breath and was nearly panting as soft fingers slid up up the sides of her face.

     "You think I . . . have a crush . . . on you?" Irene asked huskily, not quite ready to submit.

     Molly nodded. "Uh, huh. Erm, yeah, I  _know_  you do."

     "Do you?"     

     Her nose crinkled adorably again. She just nodded.

     "But-"

     Molly huffed. A second later she dropped her head and her mouth found Irene's in a sweet embrace. For a moment, Irene was somewhat stunned but then she felt the gentle tug of Molly's lips coaxing her to respond. Her stomach flip-flopped. It was overwhelming how aroused she was from the simple, confident claim Molly made. She instinctively lifted her hands to Molly's waist and pulled her down to her lap. She wanted more. She was dying for it and not just for a claim by the doctor, but a chance to submit. Molly laughed softly as their noses bumped. Then Irene heard a faint growl. Molly's arms anchored themselves around her neck and she kissed her again. This time, the woman on her thighs was more bold, her lips more insistent. A greedy tongue found its way into her mouth the moment Irene opened her lips. 

     Being domineered by Molly Hooper as she wriggled atop her lap was more erotic than she would ever have imagined. Irene groaned internally. She knew that squirm. She knew what it meant.

     "Are you hungry, my darling?" Irene whispered against her lips.

     Molly nodded eagerly and kissed her again quickly. "Oh, yes, definitely."

     "I meant, for something other than food?"

     Molly laughed. "I thought that was rather implicit in my actions."

     Irene felt her the corners of her lips curve up. She squeezed Molly's waist. 

     "Do you want to get out of here? I can get us a suite at the Dorchester, just say the word."

     Molly smirked. Her fingers danced at Irene's nape, then she felt the light scrape of nails over her skin. Her scalp tingled. 

     "Ooh, the Dorchester, how posh," Molly murmured.

     Irene licked her lips nervously. Once more, she felt a bit off kilter, a bit naked. She specialized in decadence. What did Molly want from her if not that?  

     "Not your style?" She whispered.

     Molly shrugged but her intelligent, brown eyes penetrated Irene's shell once again. Her expression became very intent as if she was running logistics in her head.

     "How about . . . how about we go to my place? See, I have this spare room, well it's not really a spare. I only allow very special people in there. Does that . . . does that sound like something you would be interested in?"

      Irene bit the inside of her lip to prevent a silly grin. 

      "Mm, Molly, a spare room, you say? Sounds right up my alley."


End file.
